


and the ships are left to rust

by blackkat



Series: Horoscope Drabbles [37]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 22:32:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17394917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “Still breathing?” Madara asks, and the words are harsh in his throat.





	and the ships are left to rust

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Normal Horoscopes on Tumblr:
> 
> Scorpio: A channel once used for trade, now choked with the corpses of warships.

“Still breathing?” Madara asks, and the words are harsh in his throat.

Mito laughs, serene on her perch of a broken mast. All around her, the water is black and red with ash and blood, and she’s stained with the same, but if it bothers her at all Madara can't tell by looking at her.

“Did you honestly expect otherwise, Madara?” she asks lightly, and slides down to land deftly on the listing deck. Her robes flare around her, silk stained with war, and her smile is a slow, careful death.

Madara closes his eyes, trying to breathe through the smell of brine and ash. “No,” he admits, and picks his way across the splintered railing of one great warship, slides down the deck at its severe angle to leap across to the next where Mito is waiting. Every inch of his skin prickles with warning, because Mito is a terrible, awful thing, but she’s beautiful, too. Madara can't manage to take his eyes off of her.

“But you sent them anyway.” Just for a moment, Madara can see the curl of her power, the tearing, drowning strength of a whirlpool that lies just beneath her skin, can read the amusement on her face that’s half-hidden behind a hot, languid tigress-smile.

“It wasn’t _my_ choice,” Madara spits, because there are so many bodies in the channel that he can hardly see the water anymore.

Mito laughs, soft and polite and deadly. “I knew you were smarter than that,” she says, pleased, and when she reaches out Madara catches on small hand, presses his thumb to the center of her soot-stained palm.

“Always,” he says roughly. “I’d make sure you were defeated before I even thought of approaching your city.”

Mito hums, tangles her fingers in his wild hair. “You’d try,” she corrects.

Madara bares his teeth at her, like snarling at a storm. “Don’t challenge me, sea-witch.”

With a laugh, Mito pulls him in, right up against her, and she’s small and terrible and aweing, a force of nature in a woman’s body. Madara holds her, hauls her up his body and pins her to the stump of the broken mask. Crushes their mouths together, kisses the taste of blood and oceanwater from her tongue, and feels her laughter vibrate through him like it’s reaching for his heart.

“Oh, but Madara,” Mito tells him slyly, “how would I keep your attention otherwise?”

Madara doesn’t tell her that she’s always had it, that he’s never been able to tear his eyes away from her for more than an instant. Breathes out a laugh of his own, ragged and conquered even if he’ll never admit it, and kisses her again.

She tastes like the sea and secrets, and Madara never wants to come up for air.


End file.
